


Rejecting Your Reality

by travels_in_time



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travels_in_time/pseuds/travels_in_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes dreams really do come true. But one person's dream might be another person's nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rejecting Your Reality

**Author's Note:**

> It's RPF! No, no, it's Doctor Who fic! No, no, it's definitely crack! All right, I give up, I don't even know what this is.

David opened his eyes with a gasp, bracing himself on the console.

The console? He glanced around. Right. The TARDIS set. Someone had switched on all the power, though; the lights were on and the little gizmos were whirring. He didn't remember doing that. As a matter of fact, he didn't remember--

"Where are we?"

He looked up at the slightly shaky voice. John was on the other side of the console, looking up at the central column, wide-eyed. Hadn't he seen it in operation before? Maybe not; it was always hard to remember what was done on-set and what was added in later.

"You...you wanted to see the TARDIS set again. Before it got torn down." He squinted, trying to remember. They'd got to the set, and the lights had flickered, gone dark for a moment...had he fallen down? Hit his head, perhaps? There seemed to be a short stretch of time unaccounted for.

"Yeah, I know that." John cleared his throat, swallowed. "I just...don't remember ever seeing _that_ side of it before."

He nodded, and David turned to look behind himself. Where there should have been a huge open area, with room for cameras and lights and twenty-three people, minimum, on any given day.

Where, instead, an unfamiliar fourth wall closed off space all around him.

He spun in place, trying to look at everything at once. The room was completely enclosed, new struts added in front of the fourth wall; everything organically flowing into itself, as if the room had been built--or had grown--that way.

He felt a huge grin breaking out on his face. "Oh, this is _brilliant!_ " he exclaimed. "Who did this?" He spun around again to face John. "Were you in on this?" he demanded.

The expression on John's face gave him his answer. "It's _beautiful!_ " he enthused. "But why? Is there--have they put another scene--" He frowned. "No, that doesn't make sense. Why now? There's no budget for..."

He trailed off. There _wasn't_ any budget for this. Not to build a whole other side of the TARDIS set, not now, when it was only a few days away from being destroyed.

He leaned against the console, frowning, and then jerked away. The console was...

He put his hands flat against it slowly. The console was _vibrating_. Barely, like an engine running. Now that he was concentrating, he could feel it throughout the entire room.

"John, feel this!"

John put a hand cautiously to the console; something hissed, and sparks shot out. "Shit!" He pulled his hand back, sucking on his fingers. He looked up and scowled as David straightened, grinning. "Glad you think it's funny."

"I do, actually. She doesn't like you. Well, look at you."

John looked down at himself. They were both still in their costumes from shooting, David in the Doctor's suit and overcoat, John in the worn black tracksuit with the red tee-shirt. "What's wrong with the way I look?" he asked defensively.

"She thinks you're...well." He gestured at the costume again. "You know." It sounded too ridiculous to say out loud, even though he could hear the vibrations, even though he could see, now, that this was no set--everything was too solid, too _real_.

John rolled his eyes, sighing. "Look, whatever you lot are up to, I'm too tired to deal with it right now. I'll catch up with you tomorrow. Give the special effects crew my best."

He strode down the ramp to the doors. David ran after him. "No, wait, that might not be such a--"

John pulled on the doors. They opened onto empty space.

"...good idea," David finished resignedly, and grabbed John's elbow to keep him from stumbling across the threshold.

John stared through the doorway. They were looking out into blackness, pinpointed by sparkly lights; off to one side, in the distance, a gas giant burned. The TARDIS turned a little, and a planet with three moons just visible swung into view. "Those are some _damn_ good special effects," John said quietly.

***************

They sat in the doorway, legs dangling off into space, and watched the moons revolving around the planets--two of them were visible now. "This is pathetic," John grumbled. "I don't know where we are or how we got here, although I strongly suspect that dodgy brownies were involved, and all I can think about is that I'm starving." He paused. "Which, actually, is probably support for the dodgy brownie theory."

"I haven't had any dodgy brownies since...actually, you know something, I've never had any. Missed out on one of the standard life experiences there somehow." David rummaged around in his coat pockets and brought forth a slightly squished paper packet. "Jelly baby?"

John looked at the packet doubtfully. "I don't even want to begin to guess at how old those are."

David sniffed at them. "Only a few days." He popped one into his mouth and held the bag out. "I'm not really the Doctor, you know. Pockets aren't really bigger on the inside."

"Aren't you, though?" John took one of the sweets gingerly. He nodded back towards the console. "If that...thing...in there thinks I'm the Master, then guess who that makes you?"

"Oi!" David said indignantly. "She's not a thing, she's the TARDIS!" He held the packet out again. "Go on, have the rest. There's something..." He dug around in his pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. "I thought I left this on set." He shrugged, tucking it away again. "You're very calm about this whole thing," he observed.

John grinned at him. "I'm very firmly holding on to the theory that this is all a dream. But I could panic, if it'd make you feel better."

"Not really, no," David admitted. "All right. I suppose we have no hope whatsoever of figuring out what's actually happened, so...let's work on trying to fix it." He scrambled to his feet and shut the TARDIS doors rather reluctantly, casting one last longing look at the view.

"Oh, yeah. Let's get right on that." John followed him resignedly.

David went back to the console and stood staring at it, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his toes. "I have no idea how to work this thing. Most people think the TARDIS is smarter and more independent than she lets on. And telepathic, of course. I really hope they're right, because otherwise we're screwed." He looked over at John, who was watching him, slight frown lines between his eyes. "What?"

"You're...bouncing."

"What?"

John imitated the rocking motion. "The Doctor does that. You don't, generally."

David took his hands out of his pockets quickly. "Habit, I suppose. Costume, set...bingo, I'm the Doctor." He raised his voice. "Um, hello! I'm...not the Doctor, actually. My name is David Tennant, and--this is amazing, really it is, you've no idea--but I honestly don't know how we got here, and we need to get back. So...if you could maybe help us out with that?..."

There was no response. None that he could discern, anyway. "Maybe I need to have more physical contact," he mused. He put both hands flat on the console again. "I know you must want the real Doctor back. Can you go places on your own? Because I really don't want to have to rip you open and stare into your innards. I hear that kind of thing can be dangerous. Also I don't have a big yellow truck, so it'd be difficult." He paused, aware that he was rambling. "Anyway. Maybe you could take us back to where you picked us up? We must have...gotten mixed up, somewhere along the line. If you could take us back to that point, where the realities crossed over. You must have noticed it, it would have been just the tiniest moment inside an interdimensional jump point and bang, here we were."

"Interdimensional jump point?" John asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, yeah. I mean, that's a vastly simplified explanation, of course, but--"

"David. You're _talking_ like him."

"Like who?"

"The Doctor! Your accent's changed and you're spewing that techno-babble that doesn't mean anything, it just sounds good onscreen and gets the basic point across--"

"Well, getting the point across is what it's all about, right? It doesn't have to be completely accurate. I mean, if humans could visualize in thirty-six dimensions of course it'd be easier to explain things to them, but--"

"Thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven, right, sorry--"

"You forgot the spaghetti dimension. You always forget the spaghetti one."

They stared at each other. John took a step back. "What are we talking about?"

"I don't know, I--"

"Well, let's stop, all right?" John shook his head. " _Spaghetti_ , what the hell. Not that a huge bowl of that wouldn't come in handy right now."

Something about his tone was worrying David, but he didn't have time to think about it for long. He was getting dizzy; his body felt strange, almost alien, as if it didn't belong to him at all. He fell to his knees, clutching at the console, gasping for breath--

\--but that wasn't right, he had plenty of oxygen, he just had to remember to use the respiratory bypass--

John had darted around the console, leaning down anxiously. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"

He slid a hand over his chest, confirming what he'd suspected. "I have two hearts," he whispered. He stared up at John, wide-eyed in disbelief. "I have two _hearts_."

"That's not funny." John pushed his hand aside, felt for himself. " _Fuck_ , David, you have two _hearts_."

"I said that. Didn't I say that? Why does no one ever listen to me?"

"Don't _do_ that, don't _talk_ like him--"

David pushed him away dizzily, stood up, holding on to the railing for balance. "But I _am_ him. I'm the Doctor." He laughed weakly. "Always wanted to be the Doctor."

"No. This is some--some weird breakdown you're having because of four years of overwork, and because you've got suppressed resentment because now you're not going to be the Doctor anymore, I don't even _know_ , but you are _not_ the Doctor. He's not _real_. He doesn't exist!"

David stared at him, hearing the undercurrent of desperation in John's words. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because you're having a psychotic break in deep space and I don't know what to do about it?" John retorted. Then his eyes widened, and he clutched at his own chest. "Oh, no. No, no, no, _no_..."

"You're a Time Lord, too," David realized. "You're--"

Bent over the console, John looked up, his face twisted. "Yeah. You can be the hero and save the world. I'll just be the crazy murderous bastard, right?" He winced. "Oh, and there are the damn drums. Right on schedule."

"Brilliant! What do they sound like?"

John glared at him. "Sympathy must be a human thing." His eyes went vague. "About like you'd expect. Like a heartbeat...a Time Lord heartbeat, but...it's not quite right, it doesn't..." He shook his head impatiently. "Fix this, Doctor," he ordered.

He beamed. "Been waiting for you to ask!" He darted around the console, flipping switches. They'd been retracing their course, he noted peripherally; he wondered why. It didn't matter. There were plenty of other places to go; it was a huge universe, with all the time in it at his disposal. "It may take a while, but I've got some ideas--"

"Not that!" The Master closed his eyes, whether in impatience or in pain, he couldn't tell. "David. I meant David. Fix this. Please."

He nodded. "I will. I promised I would, remember?"

"No!" It wasn't the Master's usual arrogance; he heard fear underneath the words. "Get us back home. Before I...it's fine for you, but if I start forgetting, I'll hurt someone!"

He stilled, watching the Master closely. "We can't go back home," he said carefully. "It was...well, if it wasn't destroyed, it soon will be." He frowned. Wasn't Gallifrey gone? He had a memory of it being locked away in time, still burning, but it was vague, undefined. Almost as if he were remembering something that was going to happen, but hadn't yet...

"Listen to me, you're not the Doctor, you're...you're an actor, and you've got to get us home, the TARDIS won't listen to me! Talk to her, tell her--"

Clearly the Master's insanity was worsening. "I am, you know," he said gently. "I am the Doctor." For some reason, just saying the words made him incredibly happy. He spun around, threw his arms out, shouted them again for good measure. "I'm the Doctor, and this is my TARDIS!"

"Yeah, you know, I get that this is a whole dream come true for you, but--"

"Think of the places we can go!" The Doctor pointed at him. "We'll get you sorted out, and then we'll travel. Oh, we'll travel, we'll never _stop_ , all across the universe and anywhen we want to see--"

The Master was grinning sardonically. "I'm not a broken clock, Doctor. You can't _fix_ me."

Unease began to creep into his mind; he pushed it back. "Course I can. I'm the Doctor. I can fix anything."

"You know who I am. You know me better than anyone. Do you really think that you can poke around in my mind for a bit and then I'll be skipping through fields of flowers and singing happy songs? You can take me anywhere you like, Doctor, you can take me all across the universe with you and _I will destroy every last civilization we find, and you will burn along with them--_ "

The Master broke off suddenly, wide-eyed. "Damn. And I thought _I_ was an evil-minded git." He shook his head frantically. "It's disgusting in here. I've got to get out."

The Doctor had expected resistance; he'd expected threats; he'd expected violence. He didn't know what to make of this almost-reasonable behavior.

Reasonable or not, the Master wasn't making any sense. "David, can you hear me at all? Do you remember anything? This isn't _us_ , we have to..."

He trailed off. The Doctor waited a moment, and then prompted, "We have to what?"

The Master thumped the side of his head. "I can't...these stupid drums, they're not _right_ , they won't..."

"What's not right?"

The Master's eyes brightened. "They're not in rhythm! That's not my heartsbeat, it doesn't match!" He was grinning suddenly. This was more familiar, this was the Master at his most unpredictable, when he seemed to be in such a good mood but could fly into a rage without warning. "It's always a bit off, it's like the Chinese water torture, you keep waiting for it and it drives you mad! So he sings and dances and blows things up, and it's all adrenaline, to keep his hearts rate up, to try to match the beat, and if that doesn't work then at least it drowns it out a bit..."

He was talking about himself in the third person, which was never a good sign, but he seemed to be so happy about figuring something out that the Doctor risked a question he'd hadn't dared to, before. "Does it hurt? The drums in your head, I mean, do they--"

He broke off hastily at the look on the Master's face. "Right. Sorry. I won't--let's work on stopping them, shall we?"

"Oh, yeah. Let's get right on that."

Something about the sarcastic tone stopped the Doctor in his tracks. He looked up. The Master was looking a bit confused as well.

It was something one of them had said before, he knew it. He was forgetting something, and he had a feeling that it was important. "You said...you said I wasn't the Doctor," he said slowly. "Why did you say that?"

The Master shook his head, looking bewildered.

"You called me something else. A name. What was it?"

The Master pressed his hands to his temples, grimacing. "I can't _think_ , nothing works right--"

His whole body shuddered, and the Doctor felt a sickening jolt. It was more than just the sight, it was a disturbance in the time-flow, as if the Master's body was being wrenched into a different continuum; as if all his energy was coming from just slightly _elsewhere_ for a moment.

He gaped. "That...that can't be good," he said hoarsely. He had the odd feeling again, the one he'd had about Gallifrey--that this was something he knew about, that he should have expected. But how could he have? He wasn't even sure what was happening.

The Master was shaking his head. "Not good at all," he whispered distractedly. "This body is dying, it's wrong, it won't hold..."

He looked around wildly. He was the Doctor. He could do anything. "All right. Let's get you into the Zero Room, maybe that'll help stabilize you until we can--"

The Master was pulling something out of his jacket pocket, frowning at it. The Doctor looked at it, distracted. It seemed to be a packet of...jelly babies?

"You gave these to me," the Master said slowly, as if he were trying to remember something. "We were sitting..." He looked over at the TARDIS doors.

"We were talking," the Doctor agreed. "I said--" His eyes widened as he remembered what he'd said.

"You said you weren't the Doctor!" the Master said triumphantly. "Pockets not bigger on the inside!"

The Doctor stuck his hands inside his coat pockets and wiggled them around. "They are, though."

"No!" The Master pointed at him. "No, listen, try to remember!" He grimaced in pain, holding his head again. "This is important! We were talking about getting back--we needed to get home--"

The Doctor stepped back. The words terrified him in ways he didn't want to think about. "No. No, I don't--this is everything I've always wanted. I don't want to go."

That weird jolt again, the wrenching pull to time itself that he could feel as the Master's body tried to draw energy from it in ways that shouldn't happen, and the Master sucked in a breath in pain. "Help me," he hissed. "If you're the Doctor, then you're supposed to fix things!"

Unreasonable anger burned through the Doctor suddenly. "You're always bragging that you're such a genius! Figure this out on your own, then!"

He winced as another of the time-jolts hit, and this time the Master sank to his knees, bent over and clutching his head. Forgetting his anger instantly, the Doctor ran to him, trying to support him. The Master looked up, his eyes tormented. "I'm going to _die_ ," he breathed. "Is that what this is worth to you? To be the Doctor?"

"I can help you," he whispered. Even as he said it, panic tore at him; the Master was right, he was dying, and the Doctor didn't know what to do. He _had_ to do something, he had to save the Master, and he _didn't know how_.

"Yeah. You can. Take me home."

It didn't make any sense to him, but it was the only thing he could think of to do, the only thing that might work. He couldn't answer the Master through the lump in his throat; could only sling an arm around his shoulders and haul him upright.

Together they stumbled closer to the TARDIS console. The Doctor touched the console, motioned to the Master to do likewise. The console sparked as he did so, and he swayed, too weak to jump back.

"Please stop shocking him, he's my friend and...I don't think he's who you think he is." The Doctor drew in a deep breath. "I don't think either of us are. I think we...we were heading back where we came from before, weren't we? And then we got distracted, and forgot. Could you help us again, please?"

The console hummed under his hands. He nodded to the Master, who reluctantly placed his hand on the console again. The TARDIS rumbled for a moment under his touch, and then the sound smoothed out again.

"It's working," the Doctor said quietly, watching the instruments. "It looks like we're heading back to where we were when--"

Then the TARDIS shuddered, the lights flickered out, and they were both thrown backwards violently.

**************

"David!"

He opened his eyes dazedly. It didn't seem to make any difference; he still couldn't see anything. Someone was shouting. "David! Are you in there?" It sounded like Chris, one of the stagehands.

"I'm here!" he shouted back automatically, and then wondered where "here" was.

"Good! Stay there. The power's out and the back-ups haven't kicked on yet, and we're trying to figure out why. Is John Simm with you?"

There was a groan beside him. He took that as an assent. "Yeah, he's here."

"All right, both of you stay put for a bit while we get this sorted, right? I've got to see who else is wandering around in the dark and make sure no one's hurt."

David could see the beam of a flashlight playing in the distance as Chris moved off. He thought about sitting up, and decided not to just yet. He was sore all over. He lay on what he gradually realized was the floor of the TARDIS set, and wondered exactly how hard he'd hit his head in the dark.

"Are you all right?" he belatedly thought to ask John.

He heard movement as John shifted around and groaned again. "My head is killing me."

"The lights must've gone out just when we got here," David said uncertainly. "And then we...tripped on the stairs? Or something. You must've hit your head."

"Well, that'd explain the hallucinations."

David had been trying really, really hard not to think about that. "Hallucinations? I was thinking...dreams."

"For you, maybe," John retorted. "Fucking nightmares, for me."

There was a long silence.

"Not that anything actually happened," John said carefully.

"No," David said hastily. "All in our heads, really. Stress and all."

"Yeah."

There was more silence. Finally the lights flickered a few times and came back on. They could hear faint cheering all around the studio.

David sat up, wincing. "Well, that's a night for me. I'm going to change, and then I'm going to my trailer. I don't think I can get any further than that. You all right?"

"Fine." John sat up as well. "I'm going to your trailer too. I'm going to drink any alcohol you happen to have lying about, and then I'm sleeping on your floor, because I'm sure as hell not staying on my own tonight."

David nodded. "Sounds like a good plan."

They stood up, stretching. Finally John took a deep breath. "Right. Okay. That was all just a figment of my imagination due to too much curry or something, but...thanks."

David shook his head. "The real Doctor would've figured out a way to save the Master."

"You did." John wasn't looking at him, was studying the console intently. "Or you would've. If any of it had really happened." He looked up then, grinning. "You know something, you're going to need more alcohol."

"You don't know how much I have," David pointed out.

"It doesn't matter," John said firmly. "We're gonna need more. And I'm sleeping in tomorrow, because I won't need make-up to look like shit." He pointed at David. "Don't say it."

David raised his hands innocently, and they walked off the TARDIS set, laughing.


End file.
